


The Hollow In Retrospect

by tallerinanotherdimension



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Minor Original Character(s), drew and will friendship is my LIFEBLOOD, if u don't like drew then this isn't the fic for u sorry bro, persephone also plays a big part in this i love her, this is focused on the minor characters!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallerinanotherdimension/pseuds/tallerinanotherdimension
Summary: Persephone turns her head towards you, and her eyes are dull as earth and sapped of warmth. There is no light, not in her eyes or shining upon you. She holds herself with power, with pride, with dignity, with all the magnificence a queen can muster, but her eyes bear no sign of strength. They are filling up with tears. “You are always welcome here,” she repeats.“As long as you are ready to embrace death.”When Drew Tanaka shoots upright in her bed, shivering like Summer left her lonely, those words linger on her lips.





	The Hollow In Retrospect

Four in the morning has never been the most lively hour. That is what most have observed on the outer world. Should you poke your head out the window at precisely four in the morning, you will notice the colours are not as vibrant as they could be and the world is not awake but you are. Nothing about it is beautiful. It’s a reminder that all you are is lonely.

But the Underworld looks ethereal — look, the palace wreathed in moonlight, and look, the garden and its skeletal beauty. Beautifully lonely.

Your head retracts from the window, and you spin from your position to face the room. A long black table stretches before you. It is only set for two, both seats placed on the very ends of the table. You slide into the seat in front of you. Because there is a niggling feeling, an  _ instinct _  in your gut, that you are one of the two the table is set for. There is nothing too peculiar about the chair; it is carved of ebony but you cannot feel it beneath your body. Across at the opposite end is a throne woven of Stygian iron and embedded with rubies shaped into flowers.

(Flowers? Such lively things in the place where all dead people go?)

Perched on the throne is the Queen of the Underworld herself — Persephone. Her hair falls in black waves, her skin glints bronze, and her eyes sparkle with warmth. So warm, in such a cold place. You cannot see much of her dress from across the table, but it is a lovely magenta and you most certainly approve. She gestures to the feast spread between the both of you with a graceful arm. It is composed entirely of fruits — bundles of grapes, ripe red apples, and so much more. In the centre of the table, on an elevated silver platter, is a single pomegranate. Nothing looks too extraordinary about it.

“Would you fancy something to eat?” Persephone says. Her voice is soft but her tone sharp.

You do not respond, so she chuckles lightly. “I don’t suppose you would,” she comments, “because you don’t want stay here, do you?”

You do not. You do not want to be with so many people but somehow still alone.

Again, you offer no reply. She takes no offence. Does she ever take offence? Humming to herself, she pours herself a cup of tea. The teapot — plain porcelain white — slides towards you by itself, weaving through the feast. It does not pour by itself, and you do not touch it.

Nibbling on a grape, Persephone cocks her head. “You haven’t been to the Underworld before, much less the palace, have you?” she muses.

She takes your silence as a ‘no’. “Well,” she says, “you could change that.”

You weren’t aware that you could, but again you do not comment.

“Pick the right transportation, at least.”

Then, she rises from her seat, leaving her teacup untouched. You get a full view of her dress, now. The bodice swirls with different colours, and the skirt swishes around her legs as she walks towards you and offers you a hand. Although you do not take it, you stand. Persephone’s lips curl in a smile. She leads you through the doorway, through a pretty hallway of midnight marble, and into the palace garden.

Persephone’s garden strikes you as odd, but you cannot deny that finding another garden to match its beauty would be no easy feat. Luminescent plants curl into the air in silvery coils, and the floor is splattered with clusters of mushrooms in colours ranging between pink and blue. It resembles cotton candy.

Cotton candy? Does the Underworld even have cotton candy? Why would it, you child yourself. The Underworld is no place for innocence or reminders of childhood carnivals or sugary dreams.

You stumble over a clump of diamonds planted in the grass, and stare at Persephone. She looks over her shoulder at you, lips fixed in a little smirk. Her eyes reflect the wonders of the garden. She continues striding. You race towards her, but with every step she almost seems to get farther away.

No matter how fast you go, death is always quicker.

She stops dead in her tracks and peers above her head. Just behind both of you —  _ just _  — is the archway to Hades’ palace. She resumes walking so you do, too, therefore both of you have left the safety of the palace.

Nothing changes in your mood, but you can’t remember having a mood to begin with. You see where Persephone is walking towards from behind her — and couldn’t fathom why she would ever possibly want to go  _ there _ .

With no hesitation, she is heading towards the Cave of Tartarus.

“Follow, but stay closely behind me.”

The Cave of Tartarus is a gaping hole thawed out of rock. It is not extremely tall or extremely wide, but the sheer spiritual presence of the thing makes up for it. Your brain is clogging with every step towards it. Your willpower seems to seep out of you with every step towards it. You seem to lose yourself with every step towards it. How much is there left of you, now?

You feel like it’s swallowing you. The shards of stone are fangs and the cave is a mouth and the freezing hot boiling cool air is breath, and dare you take  _ one _  step and you will slide down its cold, cold throat.

And then Persephone stops. Her smile is no longer present on her face. Her expression is of melancholy. Of fear. “Don’t get too close,” she warns, her voice rough. It was gentle a moment ago.

_ How fast those moments have gone. _

“Awful things have been stirring,” she murmurs absentmindedly. “As awful as Donald Trump's election. As awful as your favourite restaurant closing.”

Pause. Do you have a favourite restaurant? You can faintly recall a restaurant, dim lights and crimson decor and the comforting scent of food wafting in. But you can’t recall the name or the food. Just a little outline in your mind. And you can’t recall yourself, either.

Persephone chuckles, however mirthless the sound is. “Forgive me, that was a joke.”

You stare into the cave like all the world and Underworld’s humour has disappeared, leaving only hollowness in its place. The world around you buzzes with unease.

Your stomach twirls around the block, and all you feel is dread. Anticipation. Something is on the edge, and your entire life is put on pause until that something just slips and falls and everything dissolves into chaos. But you’ve never been one for pauses. You can never wait.

“When you can see the storm overhead,” Persephone says out of nowhere, “and people don’t dismiss it as just a cloud … nothing will be the same.”

Instinct strikes again, and you know she is not referring to an actual storm. She speaks about something far, far worse.

“But you are always welcome here, eklektós,” she says.

_ Eklektós _ . Something stirs in your mind, a familiarity that is less comforting than it should be. A Greek word:  _ chosen _ . And as it appears, the Queen of the Underworld has called you the chosen — yet you can’t even remember your own name. You don’t know who in their right mind would choose you for anything.

Persephone turns her head towards you, and her eyes are dull as earth and sapped of warmth. There is no light, not in her eyes or shining upon you. She holds herself with power, with pride, with dignity, with all the magnificence a queen can muster, but her eyes bear no sign of strength. They are filling up with tears. “You are always welcome here,” she repeats.

“As long as you are ready to embrace death.”

**Author's Note:**

> my writing is terrible i know but like i tried so it counts!!! kinda
> 
> i've been planning this since last december & i'm super excited to be working on this so pls be nice i'm only here to love drew tanaka and introduce terrifying pjo concepts
> 
> also the title is also the title of the hollow in retrospect by corey kilgannon ft liza anne!!! in no way do i claim that song fyi but pls listen to it it's SO GOOD
> 
> thank you for reading and have a nice day!!!!


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